It's a crying shame that so much money has been wasted on this pointless political campaign.
It's what Miss Brunskill calls ‘our little backwater’. We're more or less fixtures there and have been for yonks.
It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.
If any of you are in Madrid, I'd be happy to show you round.
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